A Ghost On The Horizon
by Ayien
Summary: It started as a small boy's crush. [Ashe, Basch, Larsa] Betaed by Mithrigil.


**A/N:** This was done for the LJ community 'springkink' and betaed by Mithrigil. It contains somewhat explicit sex and spoilers for the ending.

* * *

It started as a small boy's crush.

Basch noticed first how Larsa always walked beside him on their long treks through Golmore Jungle and up through the Rift, as close as he could get to Ashe without getting in between them and becoming too noticeable.

He saw how Larsa watched the movement of Ashe's dagger with calculating eyes, and then tried his best to emulate it, and studied the slashes of Basch's axe and then bought himself his own axe in Eruyt Village, practicing late into the night with it in the shadows of their campfire, long after everyone else slept.

Ashe noticed as well, but said nothing, so occupied was she with plans and dreams and vengeance. Larsa would not have it, and wedged himself inside her shell, persistent in his attempts to get her to speak to him.

But sometimes, after the pirates and the children slept, Basch would stand watch and listen to his princess and the child of her sworn enemy talk about diplomatic treaties and leadership and all the things only a monarch's child could understand.

"I never understood the point of formal swords," Larsa said, knees pulled to his chest as he stared into the fire.

Ashe sat beside him, cleaning her gladius, and said,

"In Dalmasca, the monarchy wears them to show that they don't need to carry a real one."

Larsa laughed.

"An implicit threat, then?" Basch glanced over his shoulder, and watched Ashe's grave manner crack enough for her to smile.

"Yes, I suppose so."

He turned back, watched snowflakes spiral down around them like the ashes of Landis, and wondered if peace could be formed by bonds such as theirs.

Then Larsa began walking between them, his axe on one hip and sword on the other, talking to Ashe in the quiet moments and standing back-to-back with Basch in the heat of battle.

At first he resented Larsa's intrusion, but as time passed and he watched Ashe's lust for battle grow as she moved farther and farther from him, he grew appreciative of having another pair of eyes around to watch his charge.

And he began sitting around the fire with them both while Balthier and Fran kept watch, discussing military strategy, comparing weapons. Once in a while, when he grew a little sentimental, and a little tired, he would, at Larsa's request, sing the old songs of Landis that he remembered. Even as faded and remote as the words and stories were, he could still sometimes recall the winter nights by Noah's side and the mugs of ale, and his dogs slumbering at his feet in the fire's glow.

And if his voice cracked, and his eyes burned from something that wasn't the fire's smoke, they said nothing, but moved a bit closer.

Then they went to Bur-Omisace, and found that now Ashe and Larsa had another thing in common, now scions of dead fathers, and there was no time anymore for conversations in the darkness of the Rift.

* * *

Ashe tapped the code into the keypad, stepping inside Larsa's bedroom as the door hissed shut behind her, the sound muffled by velvet and silk, the room dark and close-curtained, stuffy with the scent of incense and candles.

The Emperor of Archadia sat hunched at his desk, scribbling out new decrees by the light of a lantern, the two black dragons sewn into the back of his red silk robe gleaming softly as she stepped closer, resting her hands on his shoulders as she leaned into him. He stiffened, then relaxed back into her, turning his head to rest his cheek on her stomach.

"Did you have much difficulty getting here?" She slid her hands up pale, cool skin to run them through his dark hair, so much like his brother's, long dead these eight years.

"No. Vaan and Penelo were all too pleased to give me a lift on the _Strahl_. I believe they fancy themselves kidnappers, now," she said with a smile. Larsa caught her hand, lifted it to his lips.

"At the least, it will give them credibility they sorely lack among the pirates." Larsa turned his chair around, stared up at her with a tired smile.

"How long can you stay, if I may inquire?"

Ashe slid onto his lap, undoing the ties on his robe as she said softly, "Two days, at the most. My assistants can handle things for that long, although to linger longer would be to invite trouble." She smiled, a bit sadly. "Congratulations on the engagement."

Larsa blinked hazy eyes, and breathed, "'twas not my wish."

She reached inside to pass her hands over the valleys of ribs and the mountains of his spine, scraping nails lightly over his skin, leaving red almost-cuts in her wake. She loved him for this, for his pliability and acceptance of her needs. Perhaps it was selfish of her, to gain so much pleasure from controlling the ruler of an enemy long dead.

Larsa groaned, the sound soft and long, his eyelids fluttering shut, lashes dark against his skin, hands coming up to rest on her hips, thumbs rubbing circles inside the cloth of her dressing gown.

"I will, in time, come to appreciate her, but-" his eyes grew fierce and dark, "be assured that my heart belongs to you both."

"She will accept this." A command, not a question. Larsa's eyes flickered shut again as she pressed a kiss to his jaw, biting a little, skin warm between her teeth,

"She will. She must. The Senate would not be budged on the matter of my producing progeny, but I refused to marry unless I could keep my relationship with you and Basch." He sighed in something almost like irritation, but then asked,

"And next month?" He tilted his head forward, mouthed a wet, warm line over the ridge of her collarbone, leaving red, pleasantly throbbing marks on her shoulder.

She let one hand wander downward, slid a finger inside the hem of his underclothes, traced arabesque curlicues in the dark hair growing there.

She understood his frustration, his attempts to reconcile his love for them with his duty to his people. And it was because she understood him, when she could not understand others- gone was the empathy and gone was the princess of old- that she would never give him up.

"I cannot come, then," she said, and tried to forget her regret by pressing closer and taking his mouth, enjoying his easy submission, plundering it and tasting caviar and wine.

Larsa's hands slid up to cup her breasts, hovering right on the edge of roughness, just the way she liked it. She felt him stiffen in her hand and smirked into the kiss.

The door hidden in the wall slid open, and she leaned back enough to see a tall, twisted silhouette appear, outlined in the firelight.

"Basch," Larsa said, a bit breathless, his hips moving slowly against her hand, his hand cupping her. Her former guardian stepped inside, reached up, and took off his great horned helmet. Blue-gray eyes shone at them both, Basch's wearied smile pleased at her presence.

She had missed him, missed his wry smile and unflinching loyalty in a court of sycophants, and it surprised her how much.

"My lord," he bowed to them both, "my lady." Blond hair glinted in the dimness, the scar dark and cruel in the golden light. He turned from them, and began undoing the latches on his armor, placing the pieces on the armor stand half-hidden in the corner, removing the gray clothing underneath the plates, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair.

Ashe tried to suppress her envy at that, the reminder of a life that Basch and Larsa lived day-to-day, a life that she was only part of for two days every month. She turned her head, kissed Larsa again, bit at his lips a little bit, beckoning for Basch to join them with her free hand.

* * *

Larsa let his chin rest on Ashe's shoulder, watching Basch come closer and kneel on the floor, bare feet making soft susurration against the carpet. His callused hands, seamed with scars, rested palm-up on his thighs, shoulders rising and falling. Eyes like the sea off the Phon Coast in a storm glanced up at them both, waiting.

Ashe turned to face Basch more fully and slid off his lap in a rustle of cloth to crouch on the floor in front of him, cupping Basch's face in her hands as she kissed him. Basch accepted it, eyes closing as he wrapped an arm around Ashe's hips.

Larsa shifted, and finally got out of the chair, leaving his robe to fall to the floor as he lay down on his bed, watching Ashe's fingers encircle Basch's wrist and lead him to join Larsa, both of them falling onto it in a rustle of silk.

Ashe slid out of her robe, tossed it over the side of the bed, and reached for Basch, her hands splaying out over his chest, feeling the scars there, silver and raised and each of them a story.

Basch held himself above Ashe's supine form, arms shaking as he kept himself from putting his not-inconsiderable weight on her, his mouth whispering over her closed eyelids. Larsa propped himself on his elbow, watched them for a little while, and finally moved behind Ashe as she slid out from under Basch, holding her to him.

"Basch." Her voice crackled with impatience, like dry leaves in autumn. The older man- their stabilizing influence, the one who kept them sane and whole, who they both trusted with their lives and their souls- glanced at her, the corner of his mouth turning upward in one of his smiles.

"As my lady wishes."

Ashe's voice splintered, and he craned his neck enough to see Basch's golden head between her thighs. He was perfectly situated, able to watch the way Ashe's back arched, the flex of Basch's muscular back, mapped with scars, to feel Ashe's sinewy muscles tense against his hand resting on her back.

She let her head fall back on his shoulder, silver-blonde hair mingling with black, her pale eyes dazed, mouth slack, low sounds- harsh and something like his memories of fighting next to her- bubbling from her lips. Her hands clenched on Basch's shoulders, bereft of his once-long hair to cling to, and she convulsed and shuddered and finally fell limp against him, spent.

Basch sat up and leaned forward, Larsa tasted fruit tarts and Ashe, Basch's stubble tickling his chin. They drew away, Larsa saying,

"Do you-" Basch shook his head,

"No." The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a smile, "I am not so young anymore."

Larsa laughed, kissed him again, and blew out the lamp, situating himself between them both, with Basch's muscular, rough-hewn frame on his left and Ashe on his right, all pale and curved in the dimness. He would marry the woman the Senate chose, but this-

This time with Basch's breath rumbling in his chest, heavy arm roped around his chest, and Ashe's hips pressing into his side and her hair spread over his shoulder-

He would never give this up.

"It will work," he said with conviction, clutching their hands to him, "It _will_ work. We shall make it work."

In the darkness, their voices gave sleepy assent.


End file.
